Vertigo
by O f f beat
Summary: And Ichigo wonders where she will go: with him and his simple closet — and illicitly hopes so because it will finally fill the small, annoying Rukia shaped hole she has carved in his mind — or with Renji and his recollections of their past. [ichirukiren]


**Note:** 'Coz there's not enough of IchiRukiRen in the world. Keep in mind that this one-shot starts from the moment Rukia returns from Soul Society and appears on the windowsill of Ichigo's class.

* * *

**-Vertigo-**

_A secret look into the minds of three, helpless shinigami trapped in a whirlpool of emotions._

* * *

Renji feels them; the raw, unwanted emotions emanating off Ichigo—surprise, happiness, and something else he doesn't want to put his finger on because he knows it will bring questions to which there are no easy answers. Odd questions that will further increase the size of whatever force currently residing behind his frown.

He tries ignoring Ichigo and the somewhat unnecessary, almost inappropriate, and most definitely sickening expression that stays on his face without falter. He tries, and maybe even succeeds up to a point.

All because he feels _her_ raw, wanted emotions and he notices the expression dancing on _her _small, heart-shaped face instead.

She is pleased, proud, and most importantly, _complete_.

Renji inwardly scowls, because frowning outwardly is already enough and anything above that will bring questions that he does not want to answer.

He knows what—more specifically _who_—makes her feel complete, makes him feel, in return, so empty and useless because he is always unable to bring out her true smile, the one that fills her eyes and does not just settle on her lips alone.

The kind of smile that is presently supported by her cheeks right now, in front of Ichigo _for_ Ichigo.

And suddenly his throat is dry from brewing anger and his heart sinks that much lower, that much deeper into the tiny, always-growing darkness called despair that he hates for ever existing.

He realizes the smile that furtively catches his attention (the smile he unintentionally desires) is, for the first time in a long time, real and reaching. He wants to brush his fingers against her face and wants to feel it but keeps his hands firmly where they belong because she is too far away and it would be far too awkward.

_Stupid_, he calls himself for falling so hard and not holding on tight enough on his sanity.

_Stupid_, he calls Ichigo, though his brain tells him that his name-calling is irrational and he tells it to shut up.

_Stupid_, he tries calling Rukia, but the idea dies before it's born and he reverts back to calling himself one because had he never let her go to Byakuya in the first place, he would not be in this uncompromising situation to begin with. He would not be fighting his dormant feelings that even _he_ doesn't completely understand. Or maybe he just doesn't _want_ to understand them because—

He clears his mind abruptly, because dwelling on those unknown thoughts will bring questions he's not ready to answer. Instead, he watches her keenly and brings forth a stoic look so it does not betray his inner turmoil.

Though the idea of staying impassive is easier said then done because she says his name with a certain tone he has never heard before and he hears, just vaguely, Ichigo's annoying stuttering in return.

Renji wants to punch him for looking so dumfounded. The urge is strong and he's not sure he can hold back or whether he _wants_ to hold back. (He becomes painfully aware of the fact that he has many wants and that not all of them may ever come true.)

He feels distorted and furious, though the reasons are hidden in a thick mist and he is too afraid to go through. He knows this is cowardly, but everyone is allowed to be scared at least once in their life, he reasons.

Regardless of his logic, a small little voice—his curiosity—tempts him to cross the fog, to risk whatever bond he and Rukia shared in exchange for maybe something _more_.

It is alluring and he feels himself slip forward.

Luckily, she saves him before any disastrous decision is made by kicking Ichigo rather hard in the face. It's the distraction he needs and he almost lets out a sigh of relief because he has evaded potential discomfort caused by the unknown grounds of his feelings and can once again continue to protect the only relationship he has with her. (Even if that isn't enough.)

_Someday, he will be brave enough for her._

* * *

Ichigo sees them huddled together, knees barely touching but just enough to catch his attention even though he doesn't _like_ that it does. Just like he doesn't _like_ the fact that she is holding his hands in an attempt to teach him how to carefully poke the straw into the juice box and how to hold it while doing this. Renji is fascinated, but Ichigo knows that his interest is not with the juice box alone.

She laughs when he does it wrong and continues to struggle with the concept of such an odd beverage package. He glumly wonders why he misses her laugh so much and why it hurts to know that it isn't for him. It shouldn't matter, he thinks, because it never did.

Irritated with himself, he pops open his own can of soda and noisily slurps it down. But his throat burns for some inexplicable reason and he can't swallow anything properly, let alone his drink. He ends up choking, flabbergasted by the rejection and annoyed by the fact that being surprised is the only thing he seems to be good at doing today.

They both turn to him now, Rukia concerned. She reaches to pat him on the back, but he quickly controls his coughing fit because he knows that touching him right now will only further bewilder his already muddled thoughts.

Renji chuckles and he feels his frustration grow—especially when he continues by making a reference to their childhood that he doesn't get, that he isn't _supposed_ to get. She punches him on the shoulder, but the grin on her face is evident and Ichigo can see the recognition in her smile.

She _does_ understand what he is talking about and it _means_ something to her.

He thinks and tries very hard in searching for a memory that justifies this predicament.

He speculates—when did they become this close?

And then he questions, miserably—where they_ always_ like this?

He looks at them as they talk about Soul Society and unexpectedly, it all becomes clear. They are a_ great _deal older than he is, he realizes. Not physically so much (or in her case, at all) but mentality-wise there is a wide gap of experience.

Renji also has something Ichigo will never have: a lifetime (and_ so much _more) of memories with her.

How is he supposed to compete with that?

...Not that he's competing, he assures himself, because he is only comparing the two different relationships they have with the same girl.

But despite this supposed reason, despite his attempt to grasp control of his common sense, he still can't rid the boding sense of loss and that something (or maybe even _someone_) is disappearing from his clutches (was she ever in his hold to begin with?).

He begins doubting himself—a rare moment indeed.

He feels his courage slip through his fingers, the same courage he had so diligently collected in hopes of meeting her again after she decided not to come back with him all those months ago. Because there were many things left unsaid between them. Many things he couldn't have said, but _had_ wanted to say.

He blinks and suddenly he is back on the roof of the school building and not far, far away to a land he knows that doesn't exist. He's sees her staring at him, with large, curious eyes. He scowls at her and she smiles in return with something akin to relief before striking up friendly conversation once again.

Something flutters in his chest from her smile, but he quickly squishes it from spreading and he gives up on thinking all together. Mutely, he looks up at the sky and the sun that is slowly sneaking off towards the horizon.

And Ichigo wonders where she will go for the night—whether she will go with him and his simple closet (and illicitly hopes so because it will finally fill the small, annoying Rukia-shaped hole she has carved in his mind) or with Renji and his recollections of their past that undoubtedly provide a certain comfort in this strange, human world.

_He will keep his closet empty, just in case._

* * *

Rukia reflects on their situation. It is a clear night, crisp and fresh. And while there is great potential for a nice, leisurely walk, the momentum is ruined by the thick, heavy atmosphere that hangs over their heads. It is not their bickering that has caused this, but it is—as she can clearly see—something else entirely. A new force is threatening the very harmony she enjoys so much.

She wishes things were back to normal, back when they could laugh more freely without the tension that has suddenly built upon them. Back when certain thoughts never existed and the prospect of strolling into uncomfortable circumstances were little to none...

Unlike now however, where she catches them _watching_ her more frequently then ever. And it is unnerving, the constant protective glances they spew at her, as if they fear that if they don't keep an eye on her, she will disappear. Has she suddenly mutated into some horrendous, pitiful creature unable to fend for itself?

She knows they mean well, but sometimes...

Sometimes she hates how they look at her when they think she is not paying attention. She is not blind (even though sometimes she pretends to be) and she is not ignorant of the words behind their eyes that she can't read. She tries, once and awhile when the chance occurs, but they are always quick to know she is trying to read them and they hastily turn away, like they are keeping secrets she is never supposed to know.

She doesn't like to admit it, but it hurts when they lock her out, just as much (and maybe more) if a sword had sliced through her instead.

They are too busy arguing with each other to notice her serious expression (or maybe they do and she just _imagines_ they don't, for they _might_ be actually watching her carefully through the corner of their eyes just like she fears). A comment breaks out and suddenly, Ichigo is in a headlock and Renji's hair is being pulled on while they both topple to the cement ground in front of her feet. Muffled curses spew out from both their mouths as they wrestle to ultimate victory.

Somewhere along the way, the argument is lost—it is no longer about Renji's funny-looking tattoos or Ichigo's girly name—and Rukia watches them carefully.

They are a lot alike for two people who are also very different. Aside from their distinctions, she can see the mutual understanding between them. After all, they have had many of the same goals, have clashed with many of the same enemies, and have sought after solely the same person.

Get bankai.

Defeat Kuchiki Byakuya.

Save _her_.

For some reason, the thought of her rescue makes her grimace. Despite the surge of gratitude she feels (and will _always_ feel) for them and all the trouble they went through to preserve her life (or lack thereof one) she frowns because she still feels unworthy, still feels as if she is not good enough for _them_ even after all the times Renji has screamed at her for being an idiot and Ichigo has called her stupid more than she can count.

Apparently, she means something to them and the thought of this makes her heart swell.

Eventually, their fight ends and they pull apart, panting and in pain. There are bloody noses, bruised chins and several scratches. She is looking at them scornfully but distant and they stare at her, waiting for her to react. But she is deep in her thoughts and it is only when she feels the worry radiating of them almost as strong as their reiatsu that she looks up. She gazes at them without blinking and they gaze right back, determined. This goes on for several long, agonizing seconds until she looks away and sighs—

—and _then_ knocks them both very hard on their respective heads for being the morons they are.

They groan from the throbbing ache of her punches and she links arms with them (Renji at the left and Ichigo at the right), scowling before dragging them both down the street, mumbling incoherently at how cursed she is for being stuck with gawking dorks like them.

_Secretly, she watches them too._

* * *

**-End-**

* * *

**Comments:** Congrats on living through that. I would give you flowers, but is a virtual handshake okay?

Anyway, fluff (and maybe a little angst too) is good for the soul. Review?


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